I walk up to the gate. The darkness peals away as I step into the projector’s glow. The guards notice me. This area is already meant to be accessible only to personnel. I breathe in slowly. They point their rifles at me. The mechanical elements slide and click as their weapons are armed. The First yells a warning, the Second takes aim. I keep walking.
The Second fires a bullet. It easily penetrates through my jacket and tee-shirt, but bounces off my metal skin, now visible through the bullet hole. I keep walking towards them, unharmed. The guns are lowered. The two men share a moment of surprise, confusion, quickly followed by panic. Another warning, though now, the guard’s voice is shaking, unsure. I take another step. Their eyes widen as they realize who I am, what I am. I stop, planting my feet firmly into the ground. They point their deadly tools towards me once again, barrel points trembling.
I take my hands out of my pockets and quickly cross them in front of me in an X shape. Moments before the rifles spit their deadly fire, I turn all of my skin to metal. The two guards are now but scared children. They empty their clips on me, tearing through my sleeves, blowing my hood off of my head, and dotting my jean’s fabric with holes. Muzzle flare illuminates the night, synchronized with the crack of the guns. Compressed bullets sing and chime in symphony as they fall around me.
Her face surfaces into my consciousness. Her laugh echoes in my ear. A spark of anger resonates through my body. I push it aside. Emotions aren’t useful right now. I grow small, elongated fragments out of my arms. Projectiles. Sharp. Deadly. In front of me the guards are fumbling with their guns, trying to reload them. They are clearly inexperienced. New. Young. Guilt whispers to me. I push it aside, just as I did the anger.
Time slows to a stop. I swing my arms outwards. At the peak of the swing, I detach the shards from my metal skin. They hurl through the air like deadly feathers, reflecting the projector’s lights like a Disco ball at an old fashion club. Instantly they connect with the bodies of the two men. They fall backwards as the momentum of the shards converges into their bodies. Their weapons clatter across the concrete. I walk up to and then past them. They are littered with shards. A dark pool of blood is quickly spreading around the bodies. Their expression is that of a frozen scream, terrified and lonely.
I push pity aside with the rest. Emotions aren’t useful right now.
It’s been a whole year since I last submitted to the Speakeasy! I’ve seen new faces and familiar ones while glancing around the site a few days ago, and it’s all very exciting. I’m also trying a lot of new things with this particular piece. I’m curious to see how it came through. Comments, criticism and feedback is much appreciated. I’ve experienced with these characters before. If you so wish, feel free to read more here and here.